Homilies on Acts, Homily 6

“Men of Israel, hear these words of mine.” [“Ye men of Israel”]: he does not use this term to flatter them. Since he has been hard on them, he eases off a little and reminds them of their great ancestor [Israel]. Here again he begins with an introduction, so that they will not get worked up now that he is about to mention Jesus to them explicitly. In what came before, there was no reason for them to get worked up, as long as the Prophet was the subject of his speech; but the name of Jesus would have offended them right at the start.—And he does not say, “Do as I tell you,” but “Hear,” since he is not at all demanding. And notice how he holds back from the lofty matters and begins with the very lowly ones: “Jesus,” he says, and then immediately mentions the place He came from, a place held in low regard: “Jesus of Nazareth.” So far he says nothing great about Him, not even the kind of thing one would say about a Prophet: “Jesus,” he says, “of Nazareth, a man proved (to be) from God among you.” Look: what great thing was it to say that He was sent from God? For this was the very point that He, John, and the Apostles were eager to show on every occasion. So listen to John saying: “The same one said to me, The one on whom you will see the Spirit descending and remaining, this is He.” (John i. 33.) But Christ Himself carries this to an extreme: I have not come of Myself; He sent Me. (ib. vii. 28.) And everywhere in the Scriptures this seems to be the point most carefully insisted on. That is why this holy leader of the blessed company, the lover of Christ, the good shepherd, the man entrusted with the keys of heaven, the man who received the Spiritual Wisdom, first subdues the Jews by fear and shows what great things have been granted to the disciples and how much right they have to be believed, and only then goes on to speak about Him. Just think what boldness it took to say it in the middle of the murderers—that He is risen! And yet he does not say all at once, He is risen. What does he say instead?—“He came,” he says, “from God: this is clear from the signs which”—he does not yet say, Jesus Himself performed. What does he say?—“which God performed through Him in your midst.” He calls on them as witnesses themselves. “A man proved (to be sent) from God among you by miracles and wonders and signs, which God did through him in your midst, as you yourselves also know.” Then, having come to the mention of their sacrilegious outrage, notice how he tries to free them from the charge: “Him,” he says, “delivered up by the determined plan and foreknowledge of God” (v. 23) [adding however,] “you have taken, and by wicked hands have crucified and killed”: for even though it was predetermined, they were still murderers. [“By the determinate counsel and foreknowledge of God:”] he is all but using the same words Joseph used when he said to his brothers, “Do not be angry with one another on the way: God sent me here.” (Gen. xlv. 5, 24.) It is God’s doing. “What about us, then?” (it might be said,) “What we did was actually a good thing.” To keep them from saying this, he adds, “By wicked hands you have crucified and killed.” Here, then, he hints at Judas, while at the same time he shows them that it did not happen through any strength of theirs, and would not have happened if He had not permitted it Himself: it was God who delivered Him up. He has shifted the whole evil onto the head of Judas, who has already departed from them, for it was he who handed Him over to them with the kiss. Or “by wicked hands” refers to the soldiers: for this is not simply “You have killed” either, but, You have done this through wicked men. And notice how everywhere they treat it as very important that the Passion be confessed first. Whom God Raised Up (v. 24), he says. This was the great thing; and notice how he places it in the middle of his speech, for the earlier matters had already been acknowledged: the miracles, the signs, and the killing. “Whom God,” he says, “raised up, having loosed the pains of death, because it was not possible for Him to be held in its power.” He has hinted here at something great and sublime. For the expression “It was not possible” is itself that of someone assigning something. It shows that death itself, in holding Him, had pangs as if in labor and was in great distress; whereas by the pains, or labor pangs, of death, the Old Testament means danger and disaster. It also shows that He rose in such a way as never to die again. For the statement, “Since it was not possible for Him to be held by it,” means this: that His rising was not like that of everyone else. Then, however, before their thoughts can grasp his meaning at all, he brings David to bear on them, an authority that sets aside all human reasoning. “For David says (with reference) to Him.” (v. 25.) And notice how, once again, the testimony is lowly. That is why he begins the quotation further back, with the matters of lowlier significance: that is why death was not among the things that cause grief [because], he says, “I foresaw the Lord always before my face, for He is at my right hand, so that I would not be shaken” (v. 25–27), and, “that You will not leave my soul in hell.” Then, having finished the quotation from the Prophet, he adds, “Men and brothers.” (v. 29.) When he is about to say something great, he uses this opening address to rouse them and win them over. “Allow me,” he says, “to speak freely to you about the patriarch David.” What remarkable humility, in a case where he was doing no harm and the hearers had no reason to be angry! For he did not say, This is not said about David, but about the Christ. But from another angle, by speaking so reverently of the blessed David, he filled them with awe, speaking of an acknowledged fact as if it were a bold thing to say, and therefore asking them to pardon him for saying it. And so his expression is not simply “about David,” but “about the patriarch David, that he is both dead and buried.” He does not go on to say, “and has not risen again” (though even this would have been no great thing to say); instead, by saying, “And his tomb is with us to this day,” he has said the same thing in another way. Then—and even now he does not come to the mention of Christ; what comes next?—he continues his praise of David: “Therefore, being a prophet, and knowing that God had sworn to him with an oath.” (v. 30.) He says this so that, if only out of regard for the honor shown to David and for the descent from him, they might accept what is said about Christ’s resurrection, seeing that if this were not true, it would be an injury to the prophecy and a slight to (τἥς εἰς αὐτοὺς τιμἥς) their honor. “And knowing,” he says, “that God had sworn to him with an oath”—he does not simply say “promised”—“that from the fruit of his loins according to the flesh He would raise up Christ, to seat Him on his throne.” Notice how once again he has only hinted at what is sublime. For now that he has soothed them with his words, he confidently adds this: The prophet [saith it] “of His resurrection, that His soul was not left in hell, nor did His flesh see corruption.” (v. 31.) This again is wonderful: it shows that His resurrection was not like that of other men. For though death laid hold of Him, it did not do its own work then.—As for the sin, he has spoken of it covertly and obscurely; about the punishment he refrained from adding anything; but that they had killed Him, this he has said openly. For the rest, he now comes to the sign given by God. And once it is proved that He, the one they killed, was just and dear to God, then even if you say nothing about the punishment, you can be sure that the one who committed the sin will condemn himself more than you could ever condemn him. So the reason he refers everything to the Father is so that they will accept what is said; and he draws that statement, “Not possible,” from the prophecy. Well then, let us go back over what has been said. “Jesus of Nazareth, a man proved (to be sent) from God to you.” (Recapitulation of v. 22–31): someone about whom, because of His works, there can be no doubt, but who, on the contrary, is demonstrated. So Nicodemus also said, “No one can do these miracles that You do—By miracles, and wonders, and signs which God did through Him in your midst” (John iii. 2): not in secret. Starting from facts well known to those he was addressing, he then moves on to hidden things. Next [in saying, “By the determinate counsel and foreknowledge of God,”] (v. 23) he shows that it was not because they had the power to do it, and that there was wisdom and a Divine arrangement in what happened, since it came from God. He passes quickly over the unpleasant part [adding, “Whom God raised up,” etc.] (v. 24). For showing that He really had died is always very important to them. Even if you deny it, he says, (ἐκεῖνοι) those (present) will testify to the fact. [“Having loosed the pangs of death.”] He who gives Death trouble can all the more give trouble to those who crucified Him; however, nothing of the kind is said here, such as that He had power to kill you. Meanwhile, let us also learn to hold in this way. For someone in pain like a woman in labor does not hold on to what is held, and is not active but passive, and hurries to cast it off. And it is well said: “For David says in reference to him” (v. 25), so that you will not apply that saying to the Prophet.—[“Therefore being a Prophet, and knowing,” etc.] (v. 30, 31.) Do you see how he now interprets the prophecy and does not present it without comment? How did He “seat Him on” David’s “throne”? For the kingdom according to the Spirit is in heaven. Notice how, along with the resurrection, he has also declared the kingdom in the fact of His rising again. He shows that the Prophet was under constraint, for the prophecy was about Him. Why does he say, not, About His kingdom (it was a great matter), but “About His resurrection”? And how did He seat Him on his (David’s) throne? Why, He reigns as King over Jews too—yes, and what is far more, over those who crucified Him. “For His flesh saw no corruption.” This seems to be less than resurrection, but it is the same thing. “This Jesus”—notice how he does not call Him anything else—“God has raised up, of which we are all witnesses. Therefore, being exalted by the right hand of God” (v. 33, 34): again he takes refuge with the Father, even though what came before would have been enough to say; but he knows how important this point is. Here he has also hinted at the Ascension, and that Christ is in heaven; but he does not say this openly either. “And having received,” he says, “the promise of the Holy Spirit.” Notice how at the beginning of his speech he does not say that Jesus Himself had sent It, but the Father. Now, however, having mentioned His signs and what the Jews did to Him, and having spoken of His resurrection, he boldly introduces what he has to say about these matters, again making them themselves the witnesses through both senses: [“He hath shed forth this, which ye do see and hear.”] He has mentioned the resurrection again and again, but their outrageous deed he has spoken of only once. “And having received the promise of the Holy Spirit.” This again is great. “The promise,” he says, because it was [promised] before His Passion. Notice how he now makes it all His [“He hath poured forth this”], quietly making a great point. For if it was He who poured it out, then it is of Him that the Prophet spoke above: “In the last days I will pour out of My Spirit on My Servants and on My handmaids, and I will do wonders in the heaven above.” (supra, v. 17.) See what he quietly slips into it! But then, because it was a great thing, he again veils it with the expression “His having received from the Father.” He has spoken of the good things fulfilled, of the signs; he has said that He is king, the point that touched them; he has said that it is He who gives the Spirit. (Arist. Rhet. 1. 3.) (For no matter how much someone says, if it does not lead to something advantageous, he speaks to no purpose.) Just as John says: “He is the one,” he says, “who will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.” (Matt. iii. 11.) And it shows that the Cross not only did not make Him less, but made Him even more glorious, since God promised it to Him long ago but has now given it. Or [it may be] “the promise” that He promised to us. He foreknew that it was going to happen, and has given it to us in greater measure after the resurrection. And “has poured it out,” he says—not requiring worthiness, and not simply giving, but giving in abundance. How is this clear? From now on, after mentioning His giving of the Spirit, he also speaks confidently of His ascension into heaven; and not only that, but he again brings in the witness and reminds them of that Person about Whom Christ once spoke. (Matt. xxii. 43) “For David did not,” he says, “ascend into the heavens.” (v. 34.) Here he no longer speaks in lowly terms, since he has the confidence that comes from what has been said; nor does he say, “Allow me to speak,” or anything like it: “But he himself says, The Lord said to my Lord, Sit at My right hand, until I make Your enemies Your footstool.” Now if He is David’s Lord, all the more should they not disdain Him. “Sit at My right hand”: he has laid out the whole matter here. “Until I make Your enemies Your footstool”: here too he has struck great terror into them, just as at the beginning he showed what He does to His friends and what to his enemies. And again, as for the act of subjugation, so as not to provoke unbelief, he attributes it to the Father. Since what he has said is great, he again brings his speech down to lowly matters. “Therefore,” he says, “let the whole house of Israel know for certain”: that is, do not question it or doubt it. Then, in a tone of command, it follows: “that God has made Him both Lord”—this he says from David—“and Christ” (v. 36)—this from the Psalm. For when the proper conclusion would have been, “Therefore let the whole house of Israel know for certain that” He sits at the right hand of God, he refrains from saying this, which would have been great, and brings in a different and much more humble matter, along with the expression “Has made,” that is, has appointed. So there is nothing here about (οὐσίωσις) communication of substance; the expression relates to what has just been mentioned. “This very Jesus, Whom you crucified.” He does well to end with this, stirring up their minds. For having shown how great it is, he then exposes their reckless deed, to show that it is all the greater and to fill them with terror. For people are not drawn so much by benefits as they are disciplined by fear. But the admirable and great, those beloved of God, need none of these motives—men like Paul, who took no account of the kingdom or of hell. For this is truly loving Christ: not being a hired hand, not treating it as a matter of trading and bargaining, but being truly virtuous and doing everything for the love of God. (Rom. ix. 3.) Then what tears does it not deserve, when, though we owe so much, we do not even seek the kingdom of heaven the way traders would! He promises us such great things, and even so is He not worth listening to? What could match this hostility! And yet people are mad for making money. Even if the people they deal with are enemies, even if they are slaves, even if they are people most hostile to them, even if they are utterly wicked—if only they expect to make money through them, they will do anything: they will flatter and fawn and make themselves slaves, and regard them as more worthy of respect than anyone else, just to get some advantage out of them; for the hope of money does not let them give a thought to any such considerations. But the Kingdom is not as powerful as money—no, not even the smallest fraction as powerful. For it is no ordinary Being who promises it; and the fact that we receive it from such a Giver is greater than even the Kingdom itself! But as things are, it is just as if a king, wanting, after countless other benefits, to make us his heirs and coheirs with his son, [should be despised], while some captain of a band of robbers, who has done countless wrongs to us and to our parents, who is himself full of countless wicked deeds, and who has utterly ruined our honor and our welfare, should receive our worship for handing us a single penny. God promises a Kingdom and is despised; the Devil helps us into hell and is honored! Here God, there the Devil. But let us look at the difference in what each commands. For even if none of these considerations entered into it—if it were not a case of God here and the Devil there, not of one here who helps us to a kingdom and one there who helps us to hell—the very nature of what is commanded would be enough to persuade us to obey the former. For what does each command? The one, the things that bring glory; the other, the things that bring shame: one, the things that entangle us in countless calamities and disgraces; the other, the things that bring abundant refreshment. For look: the one says, “Learn from Me, for I am meek and lowly of heart, and you will find rest for your souls” (Matt. xi. 29); the other says, Be savage, and harsh, and hot-tempered, and full of rage, and more a wild beast than a man. Let us see which is more useful—which, I ask you, is more profitable. “Don’t talk about this,” you say. * * * But consider that he is the devil: above all, indeed, if that is shown. It is also necessary to undergo toil, and, on the other hand, the prize of victory will be greater. For the kind (κηδεμὼν) benefactor is not the one who commands easy things, but the one who commands what is good for us. Fathers, too, command unpleasant tasks, and that is precisely what makes them fathers; and so again do masters with their slaves. But kidnappers and destroyers (λυμεὥνες), on the other hand, do just the opposite. And yet that the commands of Christ bring pleasure with them is clear from that saying. For to which kind do you think the hot-tempered man belongs, and to which the forbearing and meek? Does not the soul of the (ἐκείνου) one seem to be in a kind of solitary retreat, enjoying deep quiet, while that of (τούτου) the other is like a marketplace, a tumult, the heart of a city, where there is a great din of people going out, the noise of camels, mules, and donkeys, of men shouting loudly at those they meet so as not to be trampled underfoot, and again of silversmiths and coppersmiths, of men shoving and pushing this way and that, some knocked down, some knocking others down? But the soul of (τούτου) the former is like some mountaintop, with its delicate air, its clear sunshine, its limpid gushing springs, its multitude of lovely flowers, while the spring meadows and gardens put on their plumage of shrubs and flowers and sparkle with trickling streams; and if any sound is heard there, it is sweet and suited to fill the ear with great delight. For either the warbling birds perch on the outermost twigs of the spreading trees, and cicadas, nightingales, and swallows, blending in one harmony, perform a kind of concert; or the west wind, gently stirring the leaves, draws whistling tones from pines and firs that often resemble the notes of the swan; and roses, violets, and other flowers, gently swaying and (κυανίζοντα) darkly rippling, look like a sea just stirred by gentle waves. Indeed, one could find many images. So when one looks at the roses, one will imagine seeing the rainbow in them; in the violets, a heaving sea; in the lilies, the sky. But such a one gives delight not only through the spectacle and the sight of it, but also in the very body of the one who looks at the meadow—or rather, it refreshes him and lets him breathe freely, so that he thinks he is more in heaven than on earth. There is also a sound of a different kind, when water from the steep mountainside, carried by its own force through ravines, gently splashes over its pebbly bed with a lulling noise, and so relaxes our bodies with pleasant sensations that it quickly draws the soft languor of sleep over our eyes. You have listened to the description with pleasure; perhaps it has even made you fall in love with solitude. But far sweeter than this solitude is the soul * * of the long-suffering. For it was not to describe a meadow, or to show off with words, that we have brought up this comparison. The aim was that you, seeing how great the delight of the long-suffering is, and how much more delight and benefit one would get from spending time with a long-suffering man than from visiting such places, may seek out such men. For when not even a breath of violence comes from such a soul, but only mild and winning words, then truly that gentle softness of the west wind finds its counterpart; and entreaties, too, free of all arrogance, that resemble those winged songbirds—how is this not far better? For it is not the body that is fanned by the soft breeze of speech; no, it refreshes our souls when they are heated and glowing. A physician, however attentive, could not rid a man of fever as quickly as a patient man would cool, with the breath of his own words, someone hot-tempered and burning with rage. And why do I mention a physician? Not even iron, made red-hot and plunged into water, loses its heat as quickly as the hot-tempered man does when he comes into contact with the soul of the long-suffering. But just as singing birds, if they happen to find their way into the marketplace, count for nothing there, so it is with our precepts when they fall on souls given over to angry passions. Surely gentleness is sweeter than bitterness and perversity.—Well, but the one was God’s command, the other the devil’s. Do you see that it was not for nothing that I said that even if neither the devil nor God were involved, the things commanded would be enough in themselves to (ἀποστἥσαι) turn us away? For the one is both pleasant to oneself and useful to others; the other is displeasing to oneself and harmful to others. Nothing is more unpleasant than a man in a rage, nothing more offensive, more hateful, more shocking—just as nothing is more pleasing than someone who does not know what it is to be in a rage. Better to live with a wild beast than with a hot-tempered man. For the beast, once tamed, keeps to the rule it has learned; but the man, no matter how often you have tamed him, turns wild again, unless he settles himself into some such habit (of gentleness). For the soul of the angry and that of the gentle are like a bright sunny day and winter in all its gloom. But for now let us look not at the harmful consequences to others, but at those that affect the people themselves—though it is indeed also no small harm (to one’s self) to cause harm to another; for now, however, let that be our consideration. What executioner with his whip can tear the ribs like this, what red-hot spikes (ὀβελίσκοι) ever pierced the body like this, what madness can rob a man of his natural reason the way anger and rage do? I know many cases of people bringing illnesses on themselves by giving free rein to anger, and the worst fevers are exactly these. But if they harm the body so much, think of the soul. Do not argue that you cannot see the harm; rather, consider: if what receives the malignant passion is hurt so badly, how great must be the hurt suffered by what produces it! Many have lost their eyesight; many have fallen into the most serious illness. Yet the one who bears up bravely will endure everything easily. But in any case, such are the burdensome tasks the devil commands, and the wage he pays us for them is hell. He is a devil and an enemy of our salvation, and yet we do his bidding rather than Christ’s—Christ, who is our Savior, Benefactor, and Defender, and who speaks words that are sweeter, more worthy of reverence, more profitable and beneficial, and the greatest of blessings both to ourselves and to those who live with us. Nothing is worse than anger, my beloved, nothing worse than untimely anger. It allows no long delay; it is a quick, sharp passion. Many times a single word blurted out in anger has needed a whole lifetime to heal, and a deed has been done that ruined a man for life. For the worst of it is this: in a brief moment, by one act, by a single word, it has very often cast us out of the possession of eternal good and brought a world of labors to nothing. So I beg you to do all you can to curb this savage beast. So far, however, I have spoken about meekness and anger. If one were to undertake to treat other opposites—greed and the mad passion for glory contrasted with contempt for wealth and glory, intemperance with self-control, envy with goodwill—and to set each against its opposite, then one would see how great the difference is. See how the very things commanded clearly show that the one master is God and the other the devil! So then, let us do God’s bidding and not throw ourselves into bottomless pits; but while there is time, let us wash off everything that defiles the soul, so that we may attain the eternal blessings, through the grace and mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ, with Whom to the Father and the Holy Spirit together be glory, power, and honor, now and always, and forever and ever. Amen.